


Cleaning the pipes

by MisanthropyMuse



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Casual Sex, First Meetings, Fluff, Literally the plot of the worst kind of porn movie, M/M, PWP, Plumber!Feuilly, Smut, but better, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4106242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisanthropyMuse/pseuds/MisanthropyMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>But it happened some times, rarely, maybe once every few months, that the last client of the day clearly appreciated his presence a lot, and if the day had been exceptionally stressful and Feuilly needed to blow off some steam, well, professionalism could go fuck itself.</i><br/>Feuilly is a young, very attractive plumber. Bahorel, his last client for the day, can't keep his eyes off of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cleaning the pipes

Bahorel had taken the whole afternoon off, knowing far too well how late his plumber uncle could be, because since he wasn't making him pay, he always put him as the last appointment for the day. So at half past five, the arranged time for the appointment, he sat on his couch with a bag of paprika chips and some shitty old horror movie, ready to wait for a long time. 

When the bell rang, barely ten minutes later, he couldn't believe his ears.

He rushed to open the door and he halted in a pang of sudden disappointment when he didn't see his uncle. It didn't last long. Any trace of negativity disappeared as he looked better and noticed that the person standing on his doorway was wearing a coverall, had a tool case in his hand and was ridiculously handsome.

«How can I help you?» Bahorel asked with a smirk.

«Yeah, emh, are you mister Bahorel?» the young man asked, checking the clip folder in his hand.

«In the flesh. Who's looking for me?» Bahorel replied, winking at him. The guy slightly blushed, but smiled. 

«I'm the plumber. Mr. Luigi couldn't come, so he told me to come by if I had time after my shift was over,» he said, putting away his folder and running a hand through his red curls. «Can I come in?» he asked then, and Bahorel lit up. 

«Of course,» he replied, taking a step back and holding the door for him. As the other walked past him, he added in a whisper «you can come in wherever you want.»

«Could you show me where the bathroom is, sir?» the man asked, stopping in the middle of the living room and turning back to look at Bahorel, who was admiring the way the jumpsuit wrapped around the other's athletic body. 

«Sure, just don't call me sir. I'm probably older than you. What is your name?» Bahorel asked with a smile, closing the door and leading the way through the living room and a short hall towards the bathroom.

«Feuilly. And I'm 26,» the plumber replied.

«28,» Bahorel said, pointing at himself and smiling, pleased by the small age difference. 

«Mr. Luigi told me you have a problem with the drain, right?» Feuilly brought the conversation back to his work as they entered the bathroom. 

«Yep,» Bahorel replied as the other walked up to the sink, where a considerable amount of cloudy water stagnated. «I tried with the plunger but it didn't work, and the last time I tried to dismantle the drain myself I kinda wrecked it, so I thought it was better to call first this time,» the owner explained.

«Absolutely. We change far too much drains destroyed by DIY,» Feuilly laughed, taking out something from his tool box and kneeling beside the sink. 

Bahorel watched him without having the slightest clue about what he was doing, completely captivated by the way Feuilly's hands worked around the metal, and the way his thick veins moved along his forearms. When he bent forward, Bahorel had to put an awful lot of effort not to stare at his ass.

«As I thought,» Feuilly said after a while, sitting up and putting his tools down. «Nothing serious, I just have to clean the pipes,» he added, and surely he wasn't smirking on his last words.

«I know which pipes you should clean,» Bahorel hissed, frustrated, sure that the other couldn't hear him. Feuilly grinned, unseen, opened the upper part of his coverall and tied it around his hips, showing his chest barely covered by a thin white t-shirt, probably a couple of sizes too small of what it should have been. 

«You hot?» Bahorel asked, his voice a little shaky. If his hands were sweating, it surely wasn't because of the way the light cotton of the shirt underlined the other's back muscles, so defined they seemed fake. 

«Not really. I just prefer having my arms free to work better,» Feuilly replied, putting on a pair of thick yellow gloves that only Bahorel could find even remotely sexy, and bending under the sink again with his pipe wrench and some other tools Bahorel didn't even know the name of.

Feuilly was a good plumber. He knew his job, he perfectly knew how to unscrew a clogged pipe without flooding a room and soaking himself and having to change his clothes in front of a client.

Feuilly had been a plumber for years and he knew how to be professional, how to be friendly while keeping the right distance from a client.

But it happened some times, rarely, maybe once every few months, that the last client of the day clearly appreciated his presence a lot, and if the day had been exceptionally stressful and Feuilly needed to blow off some steam, well, professionalism could go fuck itself. None of the companies he had worked for had ever received complains for this kind of behaviour so far.

So it wasn't a mistake when the pipe bent the wrong way, just above the obstruction, and he wasn't surprised when water spurted out, hitting him in full force. 

Mostly clean water, of course, because if he had to make a conscious mistake at least he was doing it right. 

«Shit!» he exclaimed, quite proud of his acting skills, leaning forward, pretending to try and avoid the water that had already made his shirt completely transparent and was quickly streaming down his trousers, and he tried to fix the fake damage.

In the meanwhile, Bahorel startled for the sudden noise, but was too distracted by Feuilly, wet Feuilly, Feuilly with droplets running down his muscular arms, Feuilly who cursed under his breath as his pants became stuck more and more to his legs, too distracted to notice that his own shirt was soaking wet too. 

When water had stopped gushing forcefully out of the pipe, Feuilly finally put himself to his work for real, extracting a huge disgusting mass of foam, hair, paper and something gluey he didn't want to know the source of, and throwing it in the trash can nearby.

«Well, problem solved!» he exclaimed, laughing with fake embarrassment, wiping the water away from his face before going back to fixing the pipe. 

A few minutes later he got up, put away his tools and turned around to look at a very flushed Bahorel, who was blatantly eating him with his eyes, captivated by his defined pecks underlined by the shirt stuck on them. 

«So, I'm finished here. Sorry for the accident with the water, I'll be very thankful if you didn't let Mr. Luigi kno...» Feuilly started saying but Bahorel interrupted him by placing a hand on his chest.

«No.»

«You wanna tell him?» Feuilly was faking innocence.

«No. I don't wanna tell him, I...» Bahorel mumbled before stopping and blushing. «I don't think you're finished here,» he managed, sounding a lot more flustered than flirtatious. 

«Is there anything else I can do? Maybe some other, mh, pipe that need, well, cleaning?» Feuilly asked, taking a step towards his client and slowly fluttering his eyelashes. He could have seduced a nun, if he had wanted to. 

«Oh, fuck you,» Bahorel burst out, leaning forward and kissing him forcefully. Feuilly grinned against his lips, pushed him against he wall and replied to the kiss.

«Wait, this doesn't count as harassment, right? Or mobbing, or whatever is it called?» Bahorel asked, pushing him slightly away, kind of startled.

«Do I look non-consenting to you?» Feuilly replied, thrusting his hips against the other's. «Besides, I'm technically not working any more,» he added before going back to his mouth. 

Bahorel put a hand behind his head, grasping his hair to hold him close, while the other hand crawled beneath his wet shirt, touching directly his smooth, warm skin. 

Feuilly went down on his jaw and neck, biting and sucking more than kissing, and let his hands wander under his shirt, raising it up to his pecks, where he stopped to play with his nipples.

«No,» Bahorel stopped him, pushing away from his hands. «Not the nipples.»

Feuilly didn't falter. He smiled, kissed him briefly on the lips before sliding down slowly, kissing his neck and collarbones and chest, bending until he was kneeling at his feet. He placed his hands on his hips. «Is this okay?» he asked, without sarcasm, tilting his head to the side in a way that could have been adorable if it hadn't been terribly arousing.

«Absolutely yes,» was the answer, and Feuilly didn't wait a second.

He untied his jeans and lowered them, placing light kisses and bites on his hipbones and his inner thighs, before lowering his pants and taking his half-hard disk into his mouth.

«Oh god,» Bahorel breathed out, bringing a hand on his head. Feuilly made an amused face and swirled his tongue around the base of his cock before slowly going back and licking his tip. He sucked, hard, and went down on him again, and again, and again.

«Oh god,» Bahorel whined, rocking his hips following the other's pace. 

Feuilly blew him until he was fully hard. Then he stopped, got up and got rid of his soaked suit, that fell almost gracefully down his legs and onto the wet floor.

Bahorel's eyes would have followed it if they hadn't been rapt by the bulge in Feuilly's thin grey boxers. 

«Condom, please,» the ginger said with a grin, dropping them as well and starting stroking himself, slowly, without taking his eyes off of the other. 

Bahorel stumbled towards a small cabinet next to the door, relishing in Feuilly's lustful gaze. He was almost obscene, in complete control of himself as his hand moved in a slow, regular pace around his cock. 

He found a condom and an almost finished bottle of lube and rushed back to his place. 

«We can move to the living room or my bedroom, if you want to,» he said, but Feuilly laughed.

«What better place to be fucked by a plumber?» he said, ripping the foil apart and rolling the condom on his erection. Bahorel awkwardly laughed, partly for his joke, partly for how incredible that whole situation was and partly because he didn't want to think too much about how absurdly hot Feuilly was even while saying something like that.

«Turn around,» Feuilly said, politely, and Bahorel complied. The lube was really a bit, so he was spare on his fingers. 

When he slipped the first one inside of him, Bahorel's breath hitched, and he clenched his fist. «Does it hurt you?» Feuilly asked. The other shook his head.

«No, no. I'm just not used to it,» he laughed, trying to relax and slowly moving around him. «Okay, go on,» he said then, and Feuilly started thrusting his finger up and down.

He added a bit of lube and stuck a second finger in, gently, trying to open him as much as he could without hurting him. «Everything's fine?» he asked, and added a third finger when Bahorel nodded.

«Tell me when,» Feuilly said, slowly sliding his fingers to and fro and occasionally slightly scissoring them. Bahorel laughed under his breath, thinking of how, despite all the teasing and the malice, Feuilly was the most attentive casual fuck he ever had. 

After a while, after Bahorel had adjusted to the slight burn and had started to want a lot more, he told him so and got ready widening his legs, bending a little more and leaning against the wall with his elbows, his feet well stable on the floor.

Feuilly took out his fingers and used all the remaining lube on his cock. He leaned the tip against Bahorel's hole, to warn him, and pushed in when the other nodded.

The other moaned a curse, leaning his head against the wall, his eyes and teeth clenched. Feuilly gave him all the time he needed and only then started moving, slowly at first and gaining speed as Bahorel's voice shook less and less.

«You okay?» he asked after a deeper push, and smiled when the other moaned and arched his back in response, breathing out some sort of assent. 

«Go...faster...» he whined and Feuilly obeyed. 

At the same time, he put a hand on his stomach to bend him more. He rubbed his thumb over his tip, spreading pre-cum all over it, slid his hand all along his cock, holding him so firmly it almost hurt, and stroked him, trying to follow the rhythm of his pushes

It wasn't easy and it wasn't perfect, but Bahorel appreciated it.

«Dear god, Feuilly,» he groaned, his hands uselessly trying to grasp something and only scratching the tiles, his breath hitching and his legs shaking. 

Feuilly smiled, placing his forehead against his back, panting and feeling the orgasm closer and closer. He said it out loud, or actually exhaled it with some of the air he still had to breath, and Bahorel laughed. He was close too. 

Feuilly came first, with a rough cry muffled on the other's skin, his legs barely holding him up. Without enough strength to move his hips, he finished the other with his hand, feeling his seed between his fingers a few moments later. He pushed out and away, almost tripping on his pants as he leaned to the opposite wall. 

«Oh god,» Bahorel murmured, fetching the closest towel and trying to clean himself.

«Oh goodness,» he said and Feuilly just laughed, breathless, taking off the condom, throwing it away and washing the other's sperm away from his hand.

Bahorel turned around, still leaning against the wall, and smiled at Feuilly, tired and smug and almost thankful.

They stayed there for several minutes, recovering their breaths and heartbeats and senses, Feuilly with his eyes closed and Bahorel who was watching him and biting his lower lip, frustrated for how attractive he was even like that, flushed, still wearing that stupid wet white shirt and with his red curls stuck to his forehead by water and sweat.

«What time is it?» Feuilly asked after a while.

Bahorel took a look at his watch. «Ten to seven.»

«Shit, I have to go take my car at the shop,» Feuilly said, jumping away from the wall and putting his boxers back on. When he tried to pull up his jumpsuit, Bahorel offered to lend him clean clothes, not to make him leave still soaked.

«I have some in my van, it's not a problem, thank you anyway,» Feuilly politely replied, closing his suit and tying it around his hips again, but Bahorel insisted.

«Bullshit, you're soaking wet. It's too cold outside to go out like this,» he said, putting his pants back on and bolting out of the room, ignoring Feuilly's attempts to stop him. He came back half a minute later with clean jeans and a hoodie and an awkward smile.

Feuilly looked at him, an eyebrow raised in uncertainty. 

«How can I be sure you're not doing this just because I'd have to give them back to you?»

Bahorel blushed a little. «You can't. But I don't expect you to bring them back. You can take them as payment for your work.»

Feuilly laughed, shaking his head and, without insisting any further, he put Bahorel's clothes on. They were big on him since the other was at least ten centimetres taller than him, but they were warm against his damp skin. Feuilly thanked him as he took his bag and tool case.

«Perfect,» Bahorel said clapping his hands, and he surely wasn't talking about Feuilly. «Bye, then.»

«Look,» Feuilly started, embarrassed, walking out of the bathroom and towards the front door. «I usually tend to avoid clients I fucked, I don't know wha...» he went on, but Bahorel interrupted him.

«I'm not a client,» he said with a smirk. «I'm my uncle's favour, even if he made you do it.»

Feuilly made an awkward half smile, not knowing what to say, not knowing what Bahorel actually meant. They didn't know each other, and his pretension to meet again was like asking someone you fucked in some club toilet to give you their number. Not that there was anything wrong with it, it was just strange. Unusual. And it disturbed Feuilly's common and quiet reality. 

«I'm not expecting anything, Feuilly. Chill,» Bahorel said, reading his expression. «You're welcome if you want to bring my clothes back, I won't mind if you don't, and that's it. Now go, I have to clean the mess you made in my bathroom,» he said then, laughing, opening the door and gently pushing Feuilly out.

«Bye,» was the only thing the other managed to say, turning around and walking backwards through the door.

At the last moment, Bahorel leaned forward and kissed him, a brief flutter of lips, and then he just smiled and disappeared behind the door.  
  


  


  


  


**Author's Note:**

> This work exists in Italian as well, [here](http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=2968082&i=1). It was written for this year pornfest, with the prompt 'Any/Feuilly, plumber!Feuilly'.  
> Hope you like it.  
> Come say hello on my [tumblr](http://www.myhearthasbeenwelltrained.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
